New York, April 23 -- Mark Twain paused today on the way to
the grave that thousands whose lives he had made happy
might look upon his placid face.

Most of those who gazed at the dead humorist in his
coffin had never before seen the creator of "Tom Sawyer"
and "Huckleberry Finn," but they felt that they knew Mark
Twain intimately because of the humor and wisdom of his
simple philosophy of life.

The sentiment of the immense crowd of mourners -- they
were sincere mourners -- was expressed in one of the few
floral pieces that lay about the casket in the quaint old
brick Presbyterian church. It bore no name. Instead, it
carred the simple legend, "From one who has read
'Pudd'nhead Wilson.'"

It was the tribute of the world to a man it knew most by
his written words.

The body reached New York shortly before noon in a
private car, in which rode Mrs. Ossip Gabrilowitsch, Samuel
Clemens' only surviving daughter, and her husband; Dan
Beard, the artist, Twain's lifelong friend; James Langdon
of Elmira; Katie Leary, for thirty years the housekeeper at
Stormfield, and other house servants. At the head of the
coffin stood Claude Benzollete, for many years Twain's
valet, who refused to move from the side of his dead
master.

Only a handful of people met the body at Grand Central
Station. No loving hands lifted it from the car to the
hearse. That task was delegated to the undertaker and his
assistants.

Slowly the cortege drove to the old brick church, where
the body remained until the funeral services began at 3
o'clock. The church filled quickly. Holders of tickets were
admitted first. Millionaires and paupers rubbed elbows in
the vast crowd that stood outside. The body, clad in the
immaculate white serge suit which marked Twain in his old
age, lay coffined in front of the altar. The only floral
piece was a wreath garlanded by the hand of Dan Beard.

At 3 o'clock the immediate family seated themselves in
front of the coffin. Rev. Dr. Henry Van Dyke of Princeton
and Rev. Joseph H. Twitchell of Hartford, Twain's old
chums, robed in their vestments, took their places in the
chancel. For a quarter of an hour the two ministers sat
silent, their heads bowed in prayer.

No sound was heard through the dark old edifice save a
muffled sob. Dr. Twitchell, Twain's oldest and dearest
friend, was convulsed with tears. His massive frame shook
as he brushed the white locks from his forehead and gazed
down into the face of his dead friend.

Then Dr. Van Dyke rose and read the beautiful funeral
service of the Presbyterian faith. At its conclusion he
spoke briefly of Samuel L. Clemens, his friend, not Mark
Twain, the author.

"I shall speak no eulogy for our dead friend," he said
simply. There was no trace of oratory in his voice. "The
friends of Samuel Langhorne Clemens, whom all the world
knew as Mark Twain, meet in the quaint place for a moment
to look upon his face in tenderness and gratitude before
his body is carried to rest in God's acre by those he loved
so truly. Our friend would sympathize with our sentiments
if he knew we were here, not to grieve for him, but to help
the living to have braver, truer, sweeter sentiments in the
presence of God's mystery.

"This is not the time nor the place for eulogy for the
famous writer, the honored representative of American
letters in the world of literature. We are here reminded of
the frailty of mortal flesh and the brevity of our way on
earth. We think of Mark Twain not as a celebrity, but as a
man whom we loved. We remember the reality that made his
life worth living -- his laughing emnity of all sham; his
love for the truth; his honesty; his honor.

"We know how he met with adversity, toiling years to pay
a debt of conscience, following the injunction to do all
things honorably as well as all things honestly. We know
how he loved his family and his fellow men. We knew Mark
Twain and we loved him.

"Nothing is more false than to think that the presence
of humor means the absence of seriousness. It was the
showing up of the unreal sham, the untruth, that made Mark
Twain's humor. He was serious in his real humor. But we
know that Mark Twain never laughed at the frail, the weak,
the poor and the humble. He used his humor, but for things
good and wholesome. He made fun without hatred. He laughed
many of the world's false claimants out of court. Under all
his humor he made us feel the pathos of life's realities,
for he exposed the sham.

"Now that he is gone, we who loved him -- and we all
loved him who knew him -- will miss him. We are glad to
give thanks that he left such an honorable name. We are
glad he won such fame in the world of letters. We are glad,
after so many shocks in his life, that he has gone into
rest and a fullness of the enjoyment that is due to his
honorable life."

As Mr. Van Dyke took his seat, Dr. Twitchell walked to
the altar, from which he might gaze down at Mark Twain's
face. His voice was inaudible, and the tears poured down
his cheeks as he asked God's blessing upon his friend, and
the world's friend. He clasped the altar rail and seemed to
be speaking to his old chum as he brokenly sobbed out a
prayer.

"Let not our sorrow prevent us from giving thanks for
the gift of his love, his friendship, and his fellowship,
which will be our chiefest memories of our dead friend and
brother who has gone before us," was his supplication.

"We thank God He has given the world to know of his
tender love and friendship, the example of which has helped
us all."

He could say no more. There seemed to come over him the
realization that his happy hours with his old chum would be
no more. His lips faltered in a silent prayer as he fell
back in his chair and buried his face in his hands. Dr. Van
Dyke clasped his hand in the grasp of understanding.

The funeral service of Mark Twain was at an end.

Slowly the great crowd filed past the coffin in silent
tribute to the dead.

Until 10 o'clock tonight the body lay in state in the
church, while throngs came off gay Fifth avenue and with
bowed heads passed the form of the man who had lightened
life's gloom with his humor.

Later the body was conveyed to the private car of E. E.
Loomis, vice president of the Lackawanna railroad, and
started at 2 a.m. for Elmira, where the burial will take
place in the afternoon. The services there will be
simple.

Dr. Twitchell, who was to have conducted the services at
Elmira, was recalled to the bedside of his sick wife in
Hartford tonight, and the ceremony will be conducted by a
local pastor.

Mr. Clemens' body will be laid beside the bodies of his
wife and children.

Among the distinguished friends of the dead humorist in
the church this afternoon were Will Carlton, Brander
Matthews, William Dean Howells, Mr. and Mrs. Andrew
Carnegie, Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Choate, James Lane Allen,
Peter Finley Dunne, Sidney Porter, John B. Stanchfield of
Elmira, Robert Underwood Johnson, H. H. Rogers, Jr., son of
Twain's dearest friend; Col. Henry J. Harper of Harper
& Bros., Twain's publishers; Robert Bridges, and
delegations from the Players', Authors', Century and Lotus
clubs, as well as representatives from the Pilgrims'
Society of New York and the Pilgrims' Society of
London.